Perfect
by bluecup94
Summary: Multi-chapter Johnlock slash. Sherlock catches John going a bit OTT on his blog... A relationship ensues... Finally. Angsty. Eventual M, rating to be safe for swearing and stuffs
1. Chapter 1

**Perfect**

**Disclaimer:**** No, I do not own any of the characters etc. etc. give credit to the lovely Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss for that!**

**A/N: ****Just thought I'd write a cute little Johnlock ficcy for my lovely readers, nothing too bad goes on, not beyond a kiss so we're safe! Enjoy =)**

John sat at his laptop and typed away furiously. He was focusing so much that he barely heard the little scoff that came from the direction of the sofa, but he didn't quite miss it. John stopped typing and leant back in his chair, turning his head in exaggerated slowness.

"Something wrong Sherlock?" He asked through gritted teeth. Sherlock's appearance was almost comical, he was lying with his back to John in his silk dressing gown sulking, the case had barely been over four hours and already he was in need of a vice, it made John angry to think how Sherlock damaged himself. There were people on Earth who needed him, _everyone_ needed him. John stopped his thought process, this was not the first time when John wondered whether his 'holistic' viewpoint of Sherlock had been tainted by his all-too-friendly feelings for the detective, he suspected the answer to be yes. He also suspected that if Sherlock saw him thinking this over then he would guess what the matter was in an instant, so he decided to stop.

"From your prolonged silence after such a fantastically sarcastic comment I presume your mind is elsewhere John." Sherlock remarked suddenly. John gulped.

"Not at all, I was just waiting for an answer." John was surprised to find Sherlock actually turn towards him.

"You know I know you better than that, but if you wish me to drop it I shall do so." John's eyebrows creased.

"What?" Apparently the thought the John had thought internal had verbalised.

"I mean, that if you wish to keep your thoughts to yourself then you do not have to tell me, nor will I try to deduce it. I care too much for you to do that as you well know..." John tried pathetically to stop his heart from racing but he felt his heartbeat begin to increase at a rapid pace.

"Um, thank you Sherlock. Anyway, would you care to tell me the reason for your scoff? Looking for an argument to pass the time?" John knew his use of sarcasm to mask his fear would not work on Sherlock, the playful little smirk he received for his pains was enough to tell him that.

"Oh John, how could you think such a thing of me?" Sherlock asked in mock innocence, making John smile involuntarily. He got off the sofa and went to stand next to John, leaning over his shoulder to read the article John was recounting. John felt beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead at the closeness of Sherlock's body to his, just a chair separating them. The way he smelled, god! The things he could do... John was cut short from his thought train but a soft chuckle bubbling from Sherlock's lips.

"Something funny?" John asked, his voice gritty.

"'Sherlock Holmes' infallible ingenuity again prevails and leads to the absolution of another convict and the peaceful equilibrium of justice'?..." Sherlock's face turned towards him with an unfaltering smirk and a raised eyebrow. John's face was blank, he knew that had been too much, he had been about to erase it before Sherlock had distracted him! Damn it!

"Yeah, I thought it a little overdramatic too, I was just playing around with it, I was going to delete it actually..." John said with restraint. Sherlock's smile widened and John felt his heart increase to the highest he had ever felt it, his pulse raised against his skin like a tidal wave crashing down onto the beach.

"Now John, don't try and fool me into believing you do not mean a word of that, I know that you would not have written it if you didn't mean it, you must try and learn not to glorify me so much in writing, people get the wrong idea." Sherlock chuckled. John felt he had to say something now, otherwise he never would.

"What wrong idea is that? The idea that you are a genius beyond all recognition? No, that one's true. The idea that you have helped and aided in innumerable cases which the police have absolutely failed to solve? No, that's also happened. The idea that your gifts by far surpass any most people have ever, and shall ever see, in all their life? Again I would say that is true. So yes Sherlock, I _will_ continue to glorify you for as long as I am watching you at work, and probably even after, because I know you deserve it." John finished his little rant with a slight raising of the eyebrows, as if threatening him to try and refute it. It was only now that John realised how close their faces were, their noses were only an inch apart. Sherlock soon saw to that and pulled John towards him with an almighty strength. John let his hands wind around Sherlock's thin waist and begin to feel the skin of the detective that he had craved for so long. Never had John imagined a feeling so exultant as this and he even began to understand why Sherlock was so addicted to drugs. John was certain that he had never got this kind of rush from any woman before and he was sure that now that he had had a taste of Sherlock Holmes, no woman would ever compare again. John stood up, never once parting lips with the object of his desire and pulling him along until they both flopped down onto the sofa, Sherlock's body falling lightly on top of John. John didn't want him and Sherlock to move too fast so with much regret, he pulled his lips slowly away and opened his eyes. He found Sherlock staring straight down at him, an action which always sent a rush of excitement thrilling through his body. Sherlock made no effort to move his body.

"Do you know something John?" Sherlock asked quietly, never taking his eyes off the doctor. John stared back and replied breathlessly.

"What?"

"In all the years of my life I have always been so sure of my abilities and I couldn't possibly count the times when I have heard myself praised by various clients or members of the police, but I have never heard it said so perfectly, nor believed it so wholeheartedly as I did just then. Thank you." To hear a statement like that from Sherlock Holmes was more than John could ever have asked for and he couldn't help but smile.

"It wouldn't have sounded so truthful if I didn't believe it with every inch of my body and soul. I glorify you in my writing because I worship you in the real world. No-one has moved me or touched me as you have done and so it should be me thanking you, for everything you've done and everything you've made me feel." John had barely got his reply out before Sherlock's lips had softly captured his again. John smiled into the kiss and he felt Sherlock do the same, and nothing could have been closer to perfect...

**A/N: ****And there you have it! Feel free to let me know what you thought and if you liked it... This could be developed I suppose if anyone wants it... And I have some other oneshots on the way in the pairings of Janto and Sherwatsonlock (as in Movieverse) so R&R if you wish, and have a great day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Perfect - Chapter two**

**Disclaimer: ****Me no owney the Sherlockey =(**

John had debated with himself for two days now as to bring up the subject with Sherlock. Ever since they had had their 'intimate moment', the days had passed with longing glances and stolen kisses and John wanted to know why. Nothing had actually been said as to what all this meant and he couldn't stand the uncertainty. John now found himself on the edge of the sofa, his back pressed flush up against Sherlock's front. John had his arms curled up in front of him and Sherlock was preoccupied reading a book called '_The ultimate guide to Chlorophyll levels in over 100,000 species of plant'_. John decided he couldn't keep quiet any longer. He jumped off the sofa in one quick motion, twisting around and facing Sherlock with his arms folded. Sherlock didn't move an inch and instead John saw him nonchalantly turn a page.

"Sherlock!" John snapped irritably. He knew Sherlock could see him, how could he not? Sherlock slowly lowered his book and his eyes peered over the top.

"Yes John?" John threw his arms out to gesture to the both of them.

"What is this? What were we doing?" He asked, none too tactfully. Sherlock's face remained stony.

"Now John. Even your, frankly human, brain could figure out that we were in fact, what is commonly referred to, as 'cuddling'." John gritted his teeth and huffed quietly. The worst part was Sherlock already knew exactly what John was thinking and was just being his usual arrogant self.

"You know that's not what I meant." Sherlock actually took the time to place his book down and press his fingertips together.

"If I'm honest John, I don't know _what_ this is." John raised an eyebrow.

"And no curiosity to find out?… No slight wonderment as to what any of this actually means? What you might want, what I might want? What's best?" The sarcasm dripped from John's tone but Sherlock's face remained infuriatingly passive.

"Do you really think feelings and emotions are something I am good at assessing?" John scoffed.

"Not necessarily but when it comes to knowing what you want and what will suit you best you always seem pretty clear." Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"You seem to paint me as somewhat self-obsessed." John's nostrils flared, he failed to believe that Sherlock didn't care at all what was happening. Especially when it was so different to anything he'd seen of Sherlock up until this point.

"Self-obsessed doesn't even begin to cover it. Well, I'm going to bed. Perhaps you can let me know when you've finally decided to come out of yourself and actually think about someone else for once." John turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Sherlock watched him go and huffed. 'Perhaps John, the problem is that I haven't been able to _stop_ thinking about someone else for days'…

John came down the next morning to find Sherlock lain draped across the sofa where he had left him. John couldn't escape the thought running through his head that Sherlock looked utterly angelic whilst asleep. His face was so pale and smooth, his body so lean and the sunlight filtering through the curtains gave him an almost unearthly glow. Unearthly… That was certainly a word that could be applied to Sherlock Holmes. John had lain awake for hours and hours last night turning things over in his mind. He didn't know why Sherlock couldn't just face his emotions. Just this once. Maybe he thought they got in the way of his ability to be brilliant, they'd just bog him down. John wouldn't be at all surprised if that was the answer but that wasn't good enough. But on the other hand, John knew exactly how Sherlock was, could he really face the unrestrained truth that Sherlock told him when he finally got around to discovering it? Maybe, maybe not. He'd have to wait and see. John heard a soft knock on the front room door and went to open it, Sherlock hadn't moved. John opened the door a crack to see a breakfast tray on the floor containing two cups of tea, two bacon sandwiches, the paper and a note saying 'good morning dears, I hope this hasn't disturbed you. Mrs Hudson'. John smiled for a moment before bringing the tray inside and placing a plate and mug down in front of Sherlock. John couldn't resist reaching out and running his thumb lightly over Sherlock's clean shaven jaw. His skin felt so cold, John had noticed that he never seemed warm at all, positively reptilian. John took his things over to the kitchen table and picked up his tea in one hand and the paper in the other. But John couldn't concentrate, he couldn't decide whether he was still mad at Sherlock or not, did he even want to face the man this morning? Did he want to face John? John panicked himself slightly at this thought, put the paper down, finished his breakfast as quickly as possible and rushed out of the door to go to work, he'd save the confrontation for later…

Sherlock resisted the urge to reach up and touch the spot that John had just stroked on his chin. Just that one touch was the most electrifying Sherlock had ever experienced in his life. Nothing had ever jolted emotion in him such as John's touch did and his kiss… Well that was something else entirely. Sherlock always found himself craving John like he would nicotine. But he knew it was wrong. He didn't feel emotion. None of their family ever had. The closest Sherlock had come to love and affection was his older brother Mycroft, and relations there were strained at best. But the problem was all the logic and effort in the world didn't seem to be able to make his brain control his heart. Sherlock laid still and thought while John hurried over his breakfast. Sherlock almost wanted to laugh at how uncomfortable John had become in the past few minutes, he was obviously afraid that Sherlock would wake up. But why? Didn't he want to talk? Didn't he want answers? Not that Sherlock could give them to him. Sherlock's mind had never felt so blank as it did when it came to his feelings for John. And Sherlock had no idea what John felt towards him either. Sherlock didn't know if he was capable of feeling the way John wanted him to. He'd never been good with emotion, he could never express himself, or even deal with his own feelings. He just blocked them out and hid them away. It was only ever anger that he couldn't repress, and so everyone around him came off with the impression that he was just an overly angry and rude man with a high level or arrogance and self-confidence. Sherlock couldn't say they were far wrong. Sherlock heard the front room door open and close and the front door slam, he sighed and opened his eyes.

"Have a good day." He whispered, before he caught himself and picked up his now-lukewarm mug of tea with a huff…

Sherlock felt his heart leap slightly as he heard the front door slam again at the end of the day. He growled to himself, how _dare_ John have that effect on him? He smoothed his expression out so that he looked vaguely normal before John could make it upstairs. Sherlock felt his heartbeat elevated slightly and silently damned John for being what no other person in the world was to Sherlock. Perfect. Not perfect as in he had no faults, perfect as in Sherlock knew of all his faults and still felt endeared towards him all the same. John entered and Sherlock immediately noticed he'd had a rough day, he fought the urge to mention it and failed.

"Frustrating and tiring day at work?" Damn, he hadn't meant in to sound so conversational! John flopped down into his armchair opposite Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

"How did you-" Sherlock flitted his eyes over John's form before smiling at him indulgently.

"Firstly, your bleary eyed look which suggests you had a power nap, and you obviously were in a hurry to get home as the effects have yet to wear off and you haven't had time to consume any caffeine. Ergo, you were tired and didn't want to be there. Secondly, the ink spatters on your left hand. You write with your right but when you get bored and annoyed you have the habit of tapping and fidgeting with your pen in your left hand. Lastly, I see the way your shoelaces are tied not with your usual symmetrical bows as I know was the case this morning but instead have been retied haphazardly. Thus suggesting that you have been on your feet rushing around after patients with little time to correct the issue." Sherlock sat back, repressing a smirk. He knew John was impressed by how well he knew him.

"Brilliant Sherlock, as always, but surely you don't want me burdening you with loathsome stories of my day. I'm a mere mortal after all." John was clearly still angry at the slight argument last night, Sherlock decided he would try and change that.

"On the contrary." John barely concealed his surprise, nor his elation. Sherlock sunk into his armchair with his legs stretched and crossed in front of him, his eyes closed. John took this as an indication that he was listening. John cleared his throat and prepared to explain.

"Well, I have this patient. A young girl, in her late teens. She has come to me complaining of insomnia. She doesn't sleep at night, she says she's afraid to sleep because of a recurring dream she has if she does eventually fall into slumber." Sherlock opened his eyes, they glimmered slightly in the lamp light.

"Did she happen to tell you what the dream was?" He asked. John furrowed his eyebrows.

"Yes she did, as a matter of fact." Sherlock waved his hand for him to continue, "Basically she's a devout Christian, and the dream starts off with her in her church, but it's all dark, it's night time and it's only dimly lit. While she's praying, she gets roughly grabbed and she tries to scream but she's gagged and bound. The attacked turns her to face him and she sees it's a man from her work, who she says is called Adam. She really likes him and wants to ask him out but he's not a Christian and her parents don't approve. So anyway, she tries struggling but he pins her down and, well, sexually assaults her. She starts crying and Adam runs away and then she is found by, what looks like, her father but dressed in a vicar's uniform, and he picks her up. And then she wakes up." Sherlock gave a small smile. John squinted his eyes at him, "What? You don't think this is amusing?" The smile slid off of his face.

"No, of course not. I'm not an animal." John resisted the urge to comment, "But you _do_ see what the dream means don't you?…" John shook his head slowly.

"No… Why would I?" Sherlock stood.

"Okay, well let us apply a Freudian analysis. Let's start with the boy, Adam. She is young, she likes him. No doubt she wants, somewhere in her unconscious mind, to have sexual relations with him. He probably wants the same. But, she cannot do that. Restraints are put on her by not only her parents, but also by the church. If she were to act on her feelings, she would feel guilty and like she betrayed people, correct?" John nodded to show her understood and Sherlock started pacing, "Now, she is in the church. This represents her faith, but it is dimly lit, this suggests the role of oppression it plays in her desires." John nodded slowly.

"Right… But if she likes this boy, why would she then picture him hurting her?" Sherlock tutted.

"I was coming to that! Now, we know in her unconscious that she wants to have these relations with him, but we _also _know that her loyalty won't allow it. The solution? Rape. She gets what her unconscious id wants, but in a way that makes it not her fault. She was helpless to stop it but she still tried, keeping another part of her unconscious called the superego happy. Vulgar, yes, but this is just how the mind works. Now, last but not least. Her father dressed in a vicar's uniform. She has combined her two most oppressive enforcers into one. Her father and the leader of her faith. By him coming and picking her up after her assault, it is like an unconscious reassurance that she has done nothing wrong and is still loved by both her parents and her God. Do you see?" Sherlock was immensely pleased to see that John was gaping at him.

"Sherlock, you are… a genius. That makes so much sense now! But what would you suggest as a course of action?" Sherlock turned to him, he was gazing up at him in unadulterated awe.

"Now, I'm not doctor but it would probably be best for her to see a psychoanalyst. They would be able to get to the source of the problem and sort it out. It's all psychological." John gave him a beaming smile and Sherlock wondered if this meant he was no longer mad at him.

"Thank you Sherlock! You couldn't have been more helpful! You amaze me more every day." Sherlock walked over and pulled John up by the lapels of his jacket, holding their bodies together. Sherlock leaned down towards John and he pulled away. Sherlock frowned.

"No. We're not doing this. Not until we've talked, or at least figured out what the hell is going on." Sherlock's brows knitted. John still was expecting too much of him. He leaned down, breathing in John's musky scent and put his lips to his ear.

"Please." He whispered. John's body stiffened beneath him and he pulled back slightly. He pressed their lips together and John didn't relax into the kiss as he had in all the previous ones. Sherlock pulled away roughly with a huff, "What do you _want_ from me John? What is it you want me to say? What is it you want me to do? I'm not like you, I don't feel emotion!" John scowled and stepped back.

"That is bullshit." Sherlock didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to diffuse tension. He didn't know how to comfort or soothe. Every argument him and Mycroft had ever had ended in something broken and smashed and every argument him and John had had until now had ended up with either him, or more often John storming out. Sherlock didn't assume this time to be any different.

"I just want you to _feel _Sherlock! I know you can, and you do, but you won't admit it! You prefer to think of yourself as some kind of machine."

"I am a machine!" Sherlock said. John growled, Sherlock pretended he didn't just enjoy it.

"That may be so, you can believe whatever you want about yourself but that's not all you are! And we both know it, even if no-one else does! You can't make me un-see the things I have seen Sherlock and I have seen glimpses of a caring and loving man, the man who I know to be my friend. He is not a lie, nor a figment of my imagination so don't you DARE treat me as if he is!" John's voice was so loud that Sherlock thought that the whole street could probably hear it. Sherlock's blood boiled in his veins.

"I can't be what you want me to be John! Why can't you see that?" Sherlock's blood immediately chilled again at the look John gave him.

"I just want you to be yourself. Clearly that is too much to ask." Sherlock wanted desperately to stop John leaving, he was going but Sherlock was rooted to the spot, he couldn't move or speak. This was the closest Sherlock had ever felt to loss and it hurt like hell. This was the reason why he didn't feel, or rather chose not to feel. Why couldn't John see that? Everything only hurt in the end. Sherlock was jarred out of his thoughts by the sound of the front door slamming loudly and he sighed, throwing himself down onto the sofa carelessly. He didn't even wince as his bony hips collided with the back of the sofa painfully.

"I wish he didn't make me feel…"

**A/N: ****Yessssss, it IS multi-chapter! Wahey! Right, to the reviewer who asked for possessive John, we may see him later on in the fic… In fact we **_**will**_** see him later in the fic! So thanks for that idea =) I would certainly welcome anyone else's ideas and see if I could fit them in, I don't mind pandering to my readers a little seeing as how I love you all so dearly! Don't know how often updates will be but… I'll try my best! If you are a fan of RENT, Merlin, or Torchwood then I have a few stories for those fandoms going at the moment and I'd like it if you could check them out… If not, please R&R and have a nice day =)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Perfect - Chapter three**

**Disclaimer: ****Still not mine, doubt it ever will be… But I can dream, oh yes, I can dream… By the way, angst-ness in this chapter… A little heartbreaking. Just thought I'd warn you.**

John stalked down the streets, not caring where he was going. Sherlock infuriated him like no other person could. He was just being stupid and ignorant. They both knew he was always behind his façade and John had foolishly thought that he might break it down for him. But Sherlock Holmes never changed, he should know that. Everything John had ever tried to do for him fell flat, and not for want of trying on John's part. The man was insufferable, but at the same time John was so sure that he was dependent upon the man to survive, and that Sherlock was just as dependent on him. John sighed and leant against a nearby brick wall. He tilted his head back to rest against the cold brick. Cold like Sherlock's skin. But not as smooth. It was funny how everything in his life revolved around Sherlock now, he would have thought figuring out what he was feeling would've been easy. Maybe not. Maybe they both needed more time. Maybe John should just drop this for now, as clearly nothing good could ever come of this conversation just keep coming up every five minutes and then an argument ensuing. Answers would be found in their own time and they weren't to be rushed. If only John had thought about this before making a big deal out of it and causing more friction than was necessary. John sighed and then growled, lifting himself back off of the wall and heading back to Baker Street. Nothing was ever simple these days.

Sherlock was surprised to hear the door slam again so soon after John had left. He didn't know what this meant, and maybe he didn't want to. Sherlock didn't move or even look around as he felt John's presence in the doorway.

"Look, Sherlock, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't be rushing anything, it won't solve anything so let's just… take our time figuring stuff out. I'm going to bed." John's footsteps sounded on the stairs, he hadn't waited for an apology. Sherlock thought this was probably a good thing as he didn't intend to give one. John recently was causing more problems than he solved. He was distracting to Sherlock and he was making him feel again, after years of expertly building up a brick wall to shove his emotions behind. It was unjust and unfair for John to just swoop in and change his life like that. Or maybe Sherlock should've just seen this coming sooner. Firstly he'd been a friend, and Sherlock didn't do friends. Then he'd become an attraction, and Sherlock didn't do attractions. And now he'd become a regular factor in his thoughts, and Sherlock didn't waste time thinking about people and their feelings. Sherlock wondered that as John had broken so many of his rules already and with such ease, whether it would actually be such an issue for him to just break a few more?… Sherlock was sickened to feel excited by this prospect and a grimace overtook his face. Stupid Doctor John Watson and his damn persuasions.

John tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Gahhh, why did Sherlock do this to him? He couldn't stop pestering him even when he wasn't even in the room! That damn man and his peculiar, eccentric ways that could weasel their way into anyone's heart. He certainly weaselled his way into Molly's… And John was sure she was just one on a list of many. John felt his gut twist at the thought of the way Molly fawned over him, she couldn't help it of course and what right did he have to say who could like Sherlock and who couldn't? He knew the answer was none. Sherlock was not his in any way, shape or form and John didn't even know if he wanted him to be. Being his friend was hard enough, being something more was probably torturous. But he was still slightly intrigued to try… No. No. He could not get ahead of himself like this, what was he even thinking? His mind was a great big jumble of questions and queries and none of them had answers… yet. With the knowledge of knowing that his eyes were drooping and his thinking was getting nowhere, John let his eyes droop closed…

_John was sitting at his desk, his pen was tapping. He was bored. John heard the intercom buzz. His next patient._

"_Send them in…" He said, stifling a yawn. John heard a knock and a patient entered. John jumped in shock. It was undoubtedly Eva, his teenage patient. But her usual long blonde hair had been replaced with ear length black curls, her bones jutted out at all angles and her normal fashionable clothes had been replaced but a black suit, purple silky shirt and long black coat. She approached the desk frantically._

"_Please, Doctor Watson. You have to help me!" John noticed now the small markings on the skin of her forearm, he frowned as realisation dawned._

"_Track marks?… Eva, what have you done?" The young girl began to sob, but no tears came out._

"_Please Doctor Watson, please help me. You have to help me." John tried to reach out but he couldn't move. He looked desperately at the girl before him._

"_I can't Eva, I can't! You never change! You've brought this on yourself!" The girl's sobbing wracked her body but still her eyes remained dry._

"_You promised you'd help me!" She screamed, "You promised you would do whatever you could for me! You promised you'd always stay by me. I thought you were my friend!" The girl got up to leave. John screamed._

"_NO! Eva don't go! You said you'd never leave me!" John's words died in his throat, "You said you wouldn't go…"_

John awoke, sweating profusely. His heart had doubled to twice it's normal speed and his breathing was rapid. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. John may not have been able to analyse his dreams as well as Sherlock could, but he knew one thing. That hadn't been Eva begging him for help, it was Sherlock…

Sherlock awoke to find that he had fallen asleep on the sofa yet again. It was probably a good thing that he was used to it by now. John would probably disagree… John. Sherlock realised now that in the night he had heard screaming. He had thought he had imagined it but… Sherlock quickly got up and hurried along to John's bedroom. He knocked quietly on the door but got no reply. Sherlock silently opened the door and peered into John's room. He was sat up against his pillows, holding his duvet impossibly tightly against his chest. His face red and raw and scrunched up but he appeared to still be asleep. Sherlock's heart sank in his chest.

"John?…" He asked, keeping his voice low. John didn't stir. Sherlock approached the bed and sat on the edge, his hand tentatively reaching out against his better instincts, "John please, wake up." He whispered. As his hand touched the bare skin of John's arm, his eyes snapped open. Sherlock had no time to say anything before John had dived into his arms. Sherlock stayed shock still, looking at the smaller form curled up against him and trembling uncontrollably. Sherlock reluctantly snaked an arm around John and just stayed there uncomfortably. What was going on?

"Come on, let's get you some breakfast." Sherlock felt John's entire body tense beneath him and the next thing he knew, the warmth had gone and Sherlock was alone in John's room…

John hurried to the front room and groaned internally. Sherlock had just seen that hadn't he? That had really happened? And John had really just responded by throwing himself into the consulting detective's embrace? How much did he know? What would he think? John flopped down into a chair at the breakfast table and picked up a mug of steaming hot tea in front of him. He didn't feel much like eating. John was waiting with baited breath for the inevitable moment where Sherlock would follow him in. It took longer than expected. Sherlock remained silent as he seated himself across from John. John could feel his eyes boring a hole into him. He didn't look up, afraid of what he would see.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No I do not want to talk about it!" John snapped automatically. This wracked him with guilt, Sherlock was actually attempting to be human for once and John had pushed him away, after everything he'd said. John looked up, "I'm sorry. I just… I had a nightmare." Sherlock couldn't conceal how interested he was by this concept.

"What was it about?" John hesitated, he couldn't say. Could he?

"Um… I'd rather not say." He said. Sherlock nodded in understanding.

"Ah, I see." John couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at his reply. He just made it clear that he already had some indication of what it was about and now he didn't have anything to say for himself, "I apologise for entering your room. I wanted to check you were okay but I realise I may have made a mistake." John was, to say the least, surprised by this admission from his friend. Sherlock Holmes was sorry? Sherlock Holmes had realised on his own part that he had done something wrong? John shook his head.

"No, no. It's fine." John didn't trust himself to say more than that.

"I'm going out to collect plants to test to corroborate along with the book I am reading. I don't know what time I'll be back." And with that, he up and left. Now John was sitting here with no clue as to what Sherlock was thinking, and having just witnessed Sherlock actually apologise and admit he was wrong. John felt completely and utterly lost…

Sherlock had expected John to tell him that he was thankful for the detective's intervention in waking him up. Apparently not. But then again, Sherlock could see that the doctor had been embarrassed. He'd hardly looked him in the eye and a faint blush had tinged his cheeks the whole conversation. But Sherlock didn't know _why_ he was embarrassed… Was that just a normal thing? He wouldn't know, he didn't dream usually. Sherlock felt an emotion swell through him that he didn't recognise… He'd never experienced It before. It was like, an unstopping sinking feeling. He realised with a jolt that it was because, for the first time in his life, he wanted to fit in. He wanted to feel normal, he wanted desperately to be able to say that he knew what John was going through and know which way best to deal with it. But he didn't. He knew logic and working out and intelligence above emotion. And with another stab of guilt he realised that that was never going to change…

John felt sick to his stomach. Everything felt overwhelming. With every new thought, a new wave of nausea crashed over him. He couldn't deal with all of this, he couldn't tell what he was feeling. He wondered if this was what it was like to be Sherlock. Sherlock. That name dragged up so many emotions in him, both negative and positive, but not one was discernible at this moment. John pulled out his phone and did the only thing he could think of. He sent the text and received the immediate reply. '_I will meet you at Speedy's in ten minutes. Please order tea._' John smiled and made his way straight there. He sat in a table at the back and it wasn't long before the almost regal figure appeared before him.

"Ah John, you did as I asked I see. Good man." John smiled.

"Hello Mycroft, how are you?" Mycroft seated himself opposite John and pulled his tea towards himself.

"I can hardly complain. What's this about?" Mycroft had the knowing glint in his eye that John spotted so often.

"It's about Sherlock." Mycroft chuckled.

"Isn't it always? What's he done this time?" John watched Mycroft stir his tea several times in a manner that could only be described as elegant. John sighed, maybe this wasn't such a good idea… Mycroft was a busy man, he didn't need to listen to this, "It's okay John, you can tell me. I know better than anyone how maddening my brother can be." John smiled.

"You and me both. It's just that… I was wondering if you would be able to tell me what observations you make about Sherlock when I'm around…." Mycroft tried to hide a smile and he gave a slow nod.

"I understand what you mean… Sherlock thinks he is so controlled when it comes to his reactions but I know better. Now, let me think. Yes… yes the response appears to be positive." John felt like Mycroft was almost talking more to himself than anyone else.

"How so?" John asked, sipping his tea but feeling the unmistakeable increase of his heartbeat.

"There are several things I have noticed that he does around you that would indicate that he is interested in you. Okay, firstly, he stares at you rather a lot. He's always liked to be intense with his eye contact but when he looks at you, the outside world appears to fall away from him. Then there's the fact that whenever you're around he's usually orientated towards you, talking to you or facing you and he's always standing closer to you and touches you more than others I've noticed. He's always looking around for you, even when he knows you're there. He actually smiles around you, not the smug smirk which usually adorns his face. Then there's the fact that his hands sheen with a thin layer of sweat and his face gets a glow instead of looking sallow and pale. And lastly, how quickly his mood will change towards you. You must have at least noticed that one?" John couldn't deny it but he didn't dare want to believe it either, "Look John, the problem is not whether he loves you, that much is obvious to most people. The problem lies in getting him to admit it to himself first of all, and then out loud. You know what he's like as well as I do. But if anyone can do it you can. Now I must be off, so you must let me know how you get on. Good day." And then Mycroft was gone, leaving John feeling even more ill than he had previously…

**A/N: ****Oooh, the fluffiness shall soon occur! And then perhaps some smut, perhaps. We shall see. So, please R&R and love to my readers as always.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Perfect - Chapter four**

**Disclaimer: ****Sherlock no mine. John no mine. Characters in general no mine!**

John growled as he walked back into Baker Street. Mycroft had confirmed one of the questions he had wanted to know, but John was still confused about his own feelings. Or was he? Did he not know or did he not _want _to know? Being with Sherlock would cause so many issues and maybe John just didn't want to face that. Maybe he didn't want the challenge of opening Sherlock up, he knew it would fail. If John was honest, he knew exactly what all the flutterings of his heart and the swoops in his stomach meant. What was the point of denying it to himself? He was in love with Sherlock. More so than he'd ever been in his life. It hadn't even started with attraction, it had just crept up on him without him realising until it was too late to turn back. And then the kiss had happened and changed everything. And now John's only decision was whether or not to admit his feelings out loud?…

Sherlock crouched behind the bush, waiting for the gardener to go away. Maybe sneaking into this person's garden to steal a flower off of one of their rare plants hadn't been the best idea… Sherlock looked behind him to the wall, his only means of escape. He took a run up and leapt over the wall, dashing away from the scene as fast as he could. Sherlock stopped as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He childishly hoped it was John. He was sorely disappointed. But it may just have been the one man who could help him.

"Hello?"

"Why hello Sherlock, how lovely to hear your voice. Would you mind popping in for a visit? I have a question for you." Sherlock sighed.

"Can't it be asked over the phone?"

"No. I expect to see you in quarter of an hour or so. You know the consequences should you not turn up." Sherlock growled and roughly shoved his phone back in his pocket. He hated being blackmailed, but he hailed the first taxi he saw and drove straight to his destination, chucking random amounts of money at the cab driver once it had come to a stop. Sherlock looked up at the massive building and sighed, he didn't know whether this man was supposed to be considered blessing or curse. The massive oak doors swung open and the tall figure stood silhouetted in the doorway.

"Ahhh Sherlock, just in time! I have tea prepared, come on in."

"Hello Mycroft, how wonderful to see you." Sherlock said through gritted teeth. They entered the drawing room in silence and both took their seats, sitting in matching positions of superiority. Mycroft smiled genially whilst Sherlock scowled.

"How are you doing, dear brother?" Mycroft's tone was grating on Sherlock's nerves.

"I'm fine."

"And what about our John?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. His heart soared at just the mention of the name.

"He's doing well, thank you. Now what is it you wanted to ask me? I'm a busy man." Mycroft's face became passive.

"Oh, I'm sure you are! I was just wondering… How do you feel about the lovely Doctor John Watson?" Sherlock couldn't deny that that question caught him completely by surprise. He tried to cover it and swallowed thickly.

"What do you mean?" He asked. Mycroft pursed his lips.

"Come come Sherlock. We're brothers. We grew up together, you really think I wouldn't have noticed that my little brother has fallen in love?" Sherlock's eyes widened. Love? _Love?_

"Love?!" Sherlock asked out loud. Mycroft chuckled.

"Of course love! What was it that you thought you were feeling?" His tone was annoyingly reproving. Sherlock found himself being unable to deny this accusation and only finding answers in the affirmative.

"I-I… I'm in love?" Sherlock whispered. Mycroft dropped the haughty act and patted his brother on the knee.

"Yes, you're in love. What do you propose to do about it eh?" Sherlock slumped against the sofa back and put his head in his hands, now wasn't that the million pound question?…

John heard his phone bleep and snatched it up, hoping it was Sherlock. It wasn't. '_Decided I'd help you along a little bit. You are good for each other. If he still puts up a fight, let me know. MH_'. John gawped down at the message, what exactly did he mean by that? He didn't…? HE DIDN'T! John dropped his phone into his lap and began breathing heavily. John heard the front door open and close and began to panic, what was he supposed to do? What did Sherlock know? What the _hell _did Mycroft do? John plastered a fake smile onto his face as Sherlock's lithe figure came into view. Sherlock threw his coat and scarf down onto his armchair. He looked nervous, and it was the first time John had ever seen him like that.

"Hey, how was your day?" John was trying really hard to feign nonchalance and he was hoping Sherlock was too preoccupied to notice. Sherlock held up several clear bags full of plants.

"I collected some good specimens… And then I paid my brother a visit." John pretended to look surprised.

"Oh, did you? How is he?" John didn't know why they were playing this little game when they both knew what was coming.

"He's fine. But he did impart some very peculiar, and um, welcome information to me…" John's heart beat even more rapidly. Welcome? That was a good sign.

"And what was that?" John felt the need to stand, he was so agitated and it would be obvious if he continued sitting. Sherlock walked up to him and stopped a few inches away.

"I'm ready to answer your question…" Sherlock's voice was barely above a breath. John gulped.

"Which question?" He asked at the same volume. Sherlock put a hand to John's face.

"What we are… What this is… It's love John." Sherlock pressed his lips softly against John's and they both immediately relaxed against each other. John broke away.

"Wait, Sherlock, does this mean you want to be with me?" He asked, feeling the need to clarify. Sherlock smiled.

"I'm with you most of the time anyway John." John scowled.

"You know what I meant." He said. Sherlock sighed.

"Yes, you are the first and probably last person I have ever wanted to be with." John couldn't help feeling elated that he was special enough to win the detective's affections. But wait, first person?…

"First? Does that mean you've never…" Sherlock chuckled softly.

"I have experimented… I'm not completely naïve sexually but I suppose I am still a virgin. I never thought about it like that…" John pulled away from him.

"Sherlock, are you sure being with me is what you want? You could be making a big mistake here…" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and pulled John back in.

"I've never been more sure of something emotion related in my life. And it's not like anything has to be rushed John, I see you practically all day every day, we can take things slowly. We don't have to push each other into anything. But if truth be told, I've never thought about losing my virginity until you came along." John blushed. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve the detective's love in a way no-one else ever had but he wasn't complaining. The thought of being the first and only person to be with Sherlock in any sense of the word was actually quite an exciting prospect, "There were a lot of things that I'd never considered until you came along John, so thank you." John felt his heart melt a little as Sherlock crushed their lips together again. Sherlock growled as he heard his phone go off. He broke away from the kiss and glared at the offensive item to which John chuckled. Sherlock answered it with a bark.

"Yes?" Sherlock listened for several moments in silence, "Of course. We'll be right there." John had never felt such a swoop of emotion over the word 'we' before. Such a simple word that now meant so much to him in terms of him and Sherlock.

"Murder?" Sherlock nodded and put his scarf and coat back on.

"It sounds pretty grim, apparently suicide. But they want me to check. Honestly, you would of thought they'd be able to handle things without me but apparently not." John smiled at Sherlock's ranting and put a hand on his arm soothingly.

"Now, now, play nice. Not everyone can be as amazing as you." Sherlock beamed and John rolled his eyes with a laugh. Inflating Sherlock's ego even further probably wasn't the best idea. Sherlock flashed him a quick, heart stopping smile before rushing out of the door with John trailing behind, as per usual. John would have to be sure not to get his hopes up too high about a relationship with Sherlock, he still wasn't going to change…

**A/N: ****In case you're wondering, this is not the end! We still have trouble in paradise, jealous John and smut to come at the very least! I has ideas brewing… *Evil grin* Now, I'll try not to make Sherlock too OOC when it comes to love, but obviously it has to get a bit fluffy so I'll do my best! Please R&R, and love to you all =) And an absolute MASSIVE thank you to everyone who's favourited, followed and reviewed so far! It keeps me writing if I know you're interested! =D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Perfect - Chapter five**

**Disclaimer: ****Think the characters are mine? You were right! No, I lied. They aren't mine =(**

The taxi rolled up to Scotland Yard and John paid the driver. Sherlock wasted no time in striding in, John hurrying behind him and struggling due to the slight difference in leg length.

"Ah, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson. DI Lestrade is expecting you. He says to go right up to his office." Sherlock ignored the receptionist but John spared her a brief smile before jumping into the lift as the doors were closing. He narrowed his eyes at the detective.

"You couldn't have waited a few extra seconds for me to get in the lift." Sherlock turned to him with his dazzling smile.

"Time is of the essence." He winked and John immediately felt his apprehension float away and then silently damned himself for letting Sherlock have that power over him. The lift opened and they were faced with a room only half full of officers. It was mid afternoon after all, most of them had probably gone home.

"Ahhh, and here we have the happy homo's." Sherlock abruptly stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to the offending officer.

"Anderson, I suggest you shut your massive mouth right this moment while I'm still giving you a chance to regret your comment." Anderson chuckled while Donovan stood behind him, sniggering quietly to herself.

"What's the matter? Not come out the closet yet? Or is it John over there that's afraid of his sexuality?" John didn't have time to comprehend, nor stop, what Sherlock did next. He strode over at a lightning pace and punched Anderson square in the nose. John could instantly tell it was broken by the loud crack. Some of the female officers gasped.

"Don't you ever speak like that again." Lestrade chose this moment to see what was going on. John watched as he stood silently in the doorway of his office for a moment, drinking in the scene (and the blood) before him.

"Dare I ask what happened?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Sherlock punched me!" Anderson squealed, John thought he sounded ridiculously like a little child. Lestrade growled.

"SHERLOCK! I can't believe this, I'm going to have to-"

"Anderson made some derogatory comments about mine and John's sexuality, and furthermore our relationship." Sherlock stated simply. Lestrade narrowed his eyes fractionally.

"Anderson, you are suspended for two weeks. Get out." Everyone turned to face the offender, watching in curiosity for his reaction.

"But, I-"

"I SAID GET OUT." Lestrade's loud voice carried easily through the tiny room and the atmosphere was tense and quiet for several moments whilst Anderson scurried from the scene, clutching his nose. Everyone stood rigidly.

"Now, Sherlock, John, come in, I've got something to talk to you about." Sherlock walked in as if nothing had just occurred but John's pace was slightly slower and more awkward, people were staring. John shut the door behind him as Lestrade took a seat at his desk.

"Thank you." John said quietly before anyone else had a chance to speak. Lestrade smiled at him.

"Any time, both of you. Anderson is not going to get away with comments like that. We all put up with enough from him anyway."

"Yes, I think his intelligence is more than a little lacking. Now, what's the problem?" If Lestrade was surprised to see Sherlock giving him a genuine smile then he didn't show it. He leaned forward as he spoke.

"I'll take you to the crime scene in a moment. Coroner's have confirmed it as suicide but I'm not so sure… I've worked on enough cases with you Sherlock to know when something doesn't feel quite right. But I can't determine what the problem is myself, so I'd appreciate the help."

"Of course, is everything still unmoved?" Lestrade smiled.

"Indeed it is, I know how finicky you get otherwise." Sherlock chuckled and held out his arm to gesture for Lestrade to leave first. John watched this whole exchange in awe, never had he seen the two policemen so genial to each other, they were actually getting along. Maybe Anderson should be a prick more often? The three men left the office with Donovan in tow, and they reached the crime scene not long after. The house they pulled up at was huge, it's chalky front stark against the rapidly darkening sky of late afternoon. The four entered the house and John watched Sherlock looking around at the most minute of details, taking everything in for later use. John loved watching Sherlock work, he was always so intense and he looked, in a word, happy. As inappropriate as that was for the scenario.

"She's in the bedroom." Lestrade said. Sherlock nodded and let himself be led up the stairs, John following behind. Lestrade pointed out the room and then went off to converse with an officer downstairs. John watched as Donovan put on her best beaming smile.

"You know Sherlock, it was really brave the way you stood up to Anderson like that." John's eyes immediately narrowed, she was really going there wasn't she? He wasn't sure Lestrade would let him off for another assault. John shrank back against the opposite wall, trying to calm himself, he felt something coil in the pit of his stomach, it felt like it was combusting on itself. John was satisfied by Sherlock's reply of a huff. But she wasn't finished yet. She sidled up closer to him as he inspected the doorframe, playing with her hair and twisting it around her fingers.

"I would have done the same in your position, you know, if someone was insulting me and my _friend_." John could have killed her. The way she put emphasis on the word friend as if asking for confirmation, as if it was any of her business! John growled and started to grumble under his breath, 'fucking woman, who does she think she is? None of her business, he's mine and you wouldn't even know how to handle him. Stupid cow, you're so idiotic. The way you normally treat him and let Anderson trail after you like the lovesick puppy that he is and then as soon as he's gone moving onto someone else, simpering bitch.' John heard Sherlock sigh dramatically.

"That's funny Donovan, I don't recall you having much of a problem when you were standing behind him sniggering." John watched in glee as her cheeks coloured slightly. He turned towards her, "Don't you have something better to do? Go and trail after some other, less busy and less intelligent, man. Oh, and preferably one that isn't taken." Sherlock beamed at her wildly and she hurried off back downstairs. John heard Sherlock chuckle.

"You don't need to get worried you know. As if that woman is anything compared to you, come on, let's go and look at the body." John blushed at Sherlock's rare appraisal of him and followed him into the bedroom. The sight was sickening. The entire room was painted and furnished in white with black trimmings. It was all done in gloss and glitter and the silver was shining. Nothing was out of place or in the least way unclean. That was, apart from the immaculately dressed but blood ridden woman sprawled across the bed with a gun in her red taloned hand. Sherlock immediately began to investigate.

"Close the door, would you John?" John was jolted out of his shock by Sherlock's request. He did as asked and stood rigidly on the spot just inside of the door. Even though the room was already tainted, John still felt like he shouldn't do anything to mess anything up. John was fascinated with the way Sherlock's hands roved so expertly over the body and knew all the places to look for clues. John caught himself smiling despite the situation. He stopped abruptly. Suddenly, Sherlock spun. John raised his eyebrows, "John, I want your opinion." He tried to protest but Sherlock held a hand up to stop him, "What seems out of place to you?" John tried not to look flustered.

"The mess." He didn't know if his answer was a joke or not, but Sherlock clapped his hands.

"Exactly! That's what I thought as well. Very good John, you are definitely not as stupid as other people." John's brows furrowed, he supposed that was a compliment? Sherlock began pacing, "Do you mind if I run my thoughts out loud to you?"

"Not at all." John said, knowing that refuting wouldn't work anyway.

"Right, we can see this woman is clean, obsessively so. Everything in this room is spotless, not a stain on anything despite how difficult it is to keep white clean. She likes neatness and order, nothing out of place and everything labelled and alphabetised. Good job, everything expensive. She's wearing a designer suit. She takes pride in her appearance, her nails haven't got any chips despite the fact that she obviously works with her hands a lot, typing it would appear. Therefore, wouldn't it be illogical for her choice of suicide to be shooting? Let alone in the head. It causes too much mess. Especially doing it inside the insanely white and clean house. Thus, it wasn't suicide. Plus, from the scarring around the wound, it looks to have been shot from a slight further distance than if she had done it herself. Can you confirm that please John?" John walked over, feeling decidedly nervous and examined the wound.

"I would say so. But only a few inches away, barely noticeable but there if you know what to look for. Does this mean the gun will be sent to be examined by forensics?" Sherlock sighed.

"It will have to be, but they won't recover anything." John raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?" He asked. Sherlock smiled.

"For a suicide to be faked with this much precision and skill, almost undetectable, the killer would not do something as stupid as leaving fingerprints at the scene of the crime." John nodded.

"That makes sense." Was all he could think to reply.

"Yes, this case looks like it could be interesting, simply for the fact that there's not much to go on. Let's inform Detective Inspector Lestrade that he was right for once." John laughed.

"The niceties didn't last for long then?" Sherlock grinned.

"Of course not, I'm Sherlock Holmes, I wouldn't want people getting the wrong impression…" John just smirked, he knew that was a _very_ unlikely scenario…

**A/N: ****Apart from the Anderson bashing, I don't particularly like this chapter, and sorry for the OOC-ness of the characters… Hmm, what do you all think? I'd love to hear your thoughts… More angst next chapter, hooray! I managed to get a little possessive John in here but there might be some more appearing later, I shall see! Please R&R, and much love to you all.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Perfect - Chapter six**

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own the characters. You know the drill. Another warning about heartbreaking angst in the form of John's dreams. Poor man =(**

Sherlock was silent the whole taxi ride home. He was trying to contemplate where best to start his investigations. Probably start with the husband. He wasn't even _at_ the crime scene, which was odd. Lestrade had said they were waiting to question him, so where was he? He'd see in the morning, right now he was tired. Punching Anderson had actually hurt a little… Sherlock climbed out of the taxi and went to open the door. He'd almost forgotten John was with him until he felt the body heat behind him. He'd been so concentrated on the investigation as per usual. But John surely couldn't expect him to be any different, he'd been like this since they first met and would continue to be. John couldn't change that, it was how he worked best. They traversed the stairs in silence and Sherlock immediately flopped down into his armchair and stared into the fire. He needed to think. He was distracted by a twinge. He located it to his hand. He realised now as he looked down that his knuckles were actually bloodied and slightly bruised. The skin looked like it might begin to peel. Sherlock frowned, had he really hit Anderson that hard?… Good. John gasped, he'd obviously seen it too.

"Stay there, I'll clean it up." Sherlock groaned.

"No John, it's fine." John narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest.

"That is utter bullshit. End of. It won't take long, and then I can leave you in peace to think." Sherlock was at least grateful that John was willingly going to give him the space he needed. John came back with a bowl of water, cotton wool and a bandage. He knelt down in front of Sherlock and began wiping at the wounds gently, his rough hands scraping along his unharmed slender fingers. Sherlock repressed a shudder, but let his eyes fall closed at the sensations. If anything could distract Sherlock from this case, it would be John. But he would just have to work around that. Sherlock realised, a little too late, that he had let out a whine when John finally removed his hands from his. Sherlock looked down at his bandaged hand with a pout.

"How long do I have to wear this?" Sherlock asked. John sighed.

"At least until tomorrow morning. Now, I'm going to go to my room, if you need anything I'm sure you won't refrain from shouting up at me." John leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on Sherlock's lips and left the room, which now suddenly felt cold without John's presence. Sherlock sighed and groaned loudly, this was going to be a long night…

_John was in his doctor's surgery again. He was bored, the same Eva/Sherlock came in, the same argument ensued. But this time, Eva didn't leave when John begged her to stay. She turned back around and John fell off his chair in fright. Her appearance had completely changed in the space that her back had been turned. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent and her form was skinny to the point of breakable. Her forearms were dotted with more track marks than John had ever seen on a person, they were bunched close together, so close like they were in clumps and some looked scarred, as though the marks had not had time to heal before the space was used again._

"_STOP SCREAMING AT ME!" John's eyes were drawn away from her arms to her face. Her eyes were wide with fear._

"_I wasn't screaming Eva, you were screaming." Eva let out a blood curdling screech._

"_What are you accusing me of? Why are you accusing me John, you've always hated me haven't you? You've always tried to get in my way. STOP SCREAMING!" John felt tears prick his eyes, he recognised her symptoms as the advanced stages of prolonged cocaine use._

"_How much cocaine have you _used_ Eva?" John asked, rounding his desk and holding his hands up in surrender._

"_It was YOU who took my drugs! WHY DID YOU TAKE THEM?! I need them John, don't you see? I can't live without them, you're killing me, WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING AT ME?" She had them all… Irritability, psychotic paranoia and auditory hallucinations. Up close he could also see her body shaking, she was already going through withdrawal. Eva clutched her chest and grimaced, "Is it you making my chest hurt John? I KNEW IT WAS YOU!" John watched in horror as Eva crumpled to the floor and her breathing became ragged. John rushed to her side, stroking the black curly hair out of her face, she began to cry, "I thought you loved me John, but now I know you hate me. Otherwise why would you scream and make my heart beat this fast?… Well I hate you too…" John choked on his tears as Eva's body seized up and convulsed in his grip. John knew there was nothing he could do to save her, her heart had given out. The cocaine had taken her from him…_

John awoke much the same as before. His body was coated in a thick layer of sweat, he recognised his symptoms as an oncoming panic attack. He rode it out and flopped back onto his bed, trying to catch his breath. The only difference was this time, Sherlock wasn't there to hold him. John hugged his knees to his chest and began to rock back and forth slowly. It felt like a peek into the future, John didn't know when it would happen, but it would. John had always been worried about Sherlock's drug habit but never more so than now. It was like his life was being played out before him. Even if him and Sherlock managed to maintain a healthy and happy relationship, this drug abuse would hang over his head every single day until he wouldn't be able to take it any more. John looked at the clock, it was only five. Even though Sherlock would be awake, probably smoking or destroying himself in some such way, he couldn't bring himself to go and talk to him now. So John sat back with a sign, his body still shivering lightly and looked up to the ceiling, the problems had already begun…

Sherlock didn't open his eyes as John came into the room. He had no idea what time it was, he hadn't slept but he hadn't checked the clock. Too busy conjuring up possible theories and plans of action and who to see and where to go. He'd need to go back to the SOC this morning definitely, he needed to check a few things. Sherlock heard John shuffling around in the kitchen and suddenly became aware that the atmosphere was very tense. Sherlock sighed internally. He knew what that meant, John had a topic of conversation to bring up that he wouldn't like. Oh great, just what he needed. Why would he even bring it up at this moment, when Sherlock was on a case? Was it really so important? Maybe to John but probably not so much to himself. John always worried over little things that didn't bother Sherlock in the slightest. Maybe they should? Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at John for several moments.

"What is it that you want to say John? I'd appreciate it if you could tell me now." John stared back wide-eyed for a minute before putting his toast down and clearing his throat.

"Last night… I had another nightmare." Sherlock couldn't help feeling a little guilty, he hadn't even noticed, "And this one was even worse. But the point is, I want you to give up the drugs. All of them." Did John really think he would do that?

"You know I can't do that John." He said quietly.

"And why not? I know I tried before and got the same response but things are different now." Sherlock gave him a steely glare.

"Things are not that different John, and nowhere near as different as you'd like them to be. Yes, we are together but the point is that between cases I still will need something to occupy my mind. There is nothing else I can do." John glared back.

"Correction, there is nothing else you have _tried_. You've found something that appears to work for you and so you stick with it. Well, guess what? It doesn't work for me. And I thought that perhaps being in a relationship might make you just a tiny bit less selfish and more caring towards me feelings. I'm not asking for much." Sherlock growled.

"It might not seem like much to you John, but to me it is positively torturous. No good can come of it." John stood up, knocking his chair over.

"What the fuck do you mean no good can come of it? You will be saving your life!" Sherlock sighed.

"Saving my life? To be honest, my life is in danger every day with the job that I do, but that doesn't seem to bother you so much." John scoffed.

"You think the thought of you dying doesn't bother me? Why else do you think I come with you so often? You think I like being reminded of death? You think I like seeing gun shot wounds and feeling my shoulder twinge?" Sherlock winced at the brutality of his statement, "Furthermore, at least when you're working you're bringing about justice, and helping other people. Something you can't seem to do in your personal life." Sherlock threw his hands up in the air.

"I don't see what you want me to do! You brought this up knowing full well what I would say, you know I can't do what you're asking, and I don't particularly see a reason to either." John gave a hard laugh.

"And that's exactly your problem. You just don't care about anyone but yourself. You're so arrogant and self assured that you don't give a damn about anyone or anything that isn't directly related to you getting what you want at any given moment. You use and abuse things and people to suit yourself and you never get pulled up on it. You are so sure that you don't need anyone else to survive, why won't you give me the chance to prove you wrong?" Sherlock put a hand to his forehead, he couldn't deal with all this.

"You will get hurt. Showing emotion makes you vulnerable, it makes you a target."

"Vulnerability makes you _human_."

"Yes! And humans are weak!" John stopped, Sherlock could see the rage in his eyes, even from this distance.

"Well, at least we are alive and aren't afraid to try. I'm ever so sorry for encroaching my insufferable mortal traits upon you." Sherlock felt his heart sink slightly in his chest as he watched John leave looking utterly calm once again. Sherlock stood, his face blank. He had a case to solve…

**A/N: ****I like writing angst! Tis my favourite! But I promise it will get better next chapter! Fluffiness, most definitely, smut, there's a possibility. So, keep me writing, please R&R and love as always!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Perfect - Chapter seven**

**Disclaimer: ****No, not mine. Don't bother asking. I'm sure all my clever readers probably knew this anyway. This chapter is longer because (WARNING!) there is smut! And I mean full-blown smut.**

John couldn't stop the tears from coming no matter how hard he tried. Sherlock had just left, he'd heard the front door go. He didn't know why he was so upset, he'd been expecting this. But he supposed there'd always been that little bit of hope. That infuriating little slither telling him that Sherlock would do anything for him, and he probably would, as long as it didn't mean putting himself out. He had no idea why he put up with this, with Sherlock. He caught himself, of course he knew. He loved him. But maybe that just wasn't a good enough reason to stay? John felt drained. Tears were still flowing freely from his eyes with no signs of stopping, his throat was hoarse from shouting and he hadn't even eaten much of his breakfast. His eyelids closed and he fell into an uneasy sleep…

Sherlock was, in a word, distracted. Everything he saw or touched or smelt reminded him of John. Aww, look at that hedgehog, it looks so cute like John. Ooh, that bench over there is exactly the same shade of green as John's favourite jumper. Oh my gosh, is that nutmeg I can smell? John always smells like nutmeg! Sherlock was absolutely furious with himself, when the hell had he become so sentimental? The little voice in Sherlock's mind cackled, 'around the same time that everything else you'd ever had set in stone changed. The moment you first met John Watson'. Sherlock growled out loud and looked back to his work. He _was_ going to concentrate, even if it killed him…

John was awoken by the sound of the front door and running footsteps. For some reason the noise made him panic. The footsteps appeared to stop, and then started up again several minutes later. Then the door to his bedroom flew open without invitation and a heavily breathing Sherlock strode into his room.

"I solved the case." Any residual anger left over from this morning was instantly replaced by surprise.

"Really? Already?" Sherlock beamed.

"Yes. It was tough, I'll admit. It was the husband, like I'd previously assumed. I went to interrogate him, got nothing from him. He's a damn good liar. Went around gathering other evidence and eventually found a way to um, persuade him to come clean." John raised an eyebrow.

"You mean you blackmailed him?" Sherlock's grin dropped.

"Well yes. But anyway, he finally confessed and I got a rather large congratulations, and wage for my efforts. So I bought you a present." John did a double take.

"You bought me a present?" John was more than aware of how un-Sherlock that was. He wasn't going to miss a moment of this.

"Yes." Sherlock offered his hand out and John took it, feeling excited. Sherlock led him down to the front room where he closed the door behind them. John watched him expectantly. Sherlock pointed to the table and John raised an eyebrow.

"You bought a takeaway?" He asked, trying to sound in the least bit thrilled. Sherlock nodded.

"Well, yes. But that isn't your present." John's hope was back up. Sherlock pulled something from out of the bag.

"It's a leaflet…" John said slowly. Sherlock nodded eagerly.

"Yes! It's a leaflet for a rehab centre. A rehab centre which I will be attending to get off of drugs." John's mouth opened in shock.

"You're going to do what?" He asked, unable to keep his voice steady. Sherlock frowned.

"You're not happy?" He asked quietly. John shook his head.

"No, of _course_ I'm happy! I'm just very surprised. You're really going to do this?" Sherlock was watching him as if he was mad.

"Of course I am… It's what you want isn't it?" John nodded silently, "Well then it's settled." John had never felt a wave of emotion quite like the one he felt in that moment. He ran into Sherlock's arms and buried his face in his chest. Sherlock's arms secured around him as he started to cry.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't cry. I just really didn't think you would actually do it." Sherlock smiled.

"I would do anything for you John. You have always been an exception to my rules." John gave a watery chuckle.

"I suppose I have…" Sherlock grinned.

"Now we should eat. Firstly because it'll get cold and secondly, because I'm starving…"

Sherlock was pleased that John liked what he was going to do. It took a lot for him to build up the courage to do it. But now he'd decided, he wasn't going to go back. Sherlock also hoped that John would like the last part of his gift. Sherlock picked up the dirty plates and deposited them vaguely near the sink. John was watching him suspiciously. He clearly knew something was up. Sherlock decided now was not the time for words. He walked round to John's seat, leant down (rather far) and brought his lips crashing down onto John's. He grabbed the front of John's shirt and pulled him up roughly and held him there by wrapping an arm securely around his waist. John slid his arms up into Sherlock's hair.

"Bedroom." Sherlock mumbled against John's lips. John pulled away.

"Are you sure?" He breathed. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"More than sure. Now hurry up." Sherlock intertwined his fingers with John's and led him away to his bedroom, a room that was so very rarely used that he'd almost forgotten what it looked like. It was actually clean which came as a surprise. Sherlock entered his room and John followed him in, closing the door behind him. John wasted no time in pulling Sherlock back down into a searing kiss, twisting his hands up to caress the curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock began walking backwards towards the bed, finally finding the edge and flopping down, dragging John down on top of him. The heat radiating off of the two of them was intense, spurred on by the amount of passion pulsing through their veins at their lack of contact for days. John trailed his hands down around Sherlock's neck and to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one whilst letting his tongue explore every inch of Sherlock's mouth. John's hands roamed Sherlock's naked chest, setting his fingertips alight with the sensation. Sherlock tucked his hands slowly under the hem of John's jumper, rubbing slowly at his prominent stomach muscles. John let his tongue flit about Sherlock's mouth a little longer before scraping his teeth around the sensitive skin of Sherlock's jaw and down his neck. John latched onto Sherlock's pulse point, nibbling and sucking at the skin and feeling the blood rushing beneath his tongue. He shivered against Sherlock's, for once, heated body. John leant back to admire the purplish mark that he had left to claim the man beneath him. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's jutting collarbone and down his chest. He tasted of sweat and a scent that he could only describe as 'Sherlock'. It drove him crazy, it was the best taste in the world to him and he savoured every moment. Sherlock arched up into him, causing friction between the fabric of their trousers. John moved his hands to slide down Sherlock's damp chest and undo his trousers. Sherlock wriggled slightly under him to get them completely off due to how tight they were and caused some more of the wonderful friction that was pulling them closer to the edge. John harshly and quickly undid his trousers and shoved them off. Sherlock's hands moved to disentangle themselves from his chest, where they had previously been situated to pull his jumper off and moved around to tease his nimble fingers up and down John's spine. John shivered again and a moan slipped out of Sherlock's mouth. John replaced his hands at Sherlock's bony hips and used his thumbs to rub small circles on the bones that jutted out. Sherlock watched him a moment with hooded eyelids and then, licking his lips, spoke very slowly.

"John, no offence, but get on with it, _please_!" The harsh gravelly tone of Sherlock's voice set him into action. John's breathing quickened, this was really happening wasn't it? He was actually about to take the only consulting detective in the world's virginity.

"Okay, I will. But it's going to hurt okay? I'll try not to though." Sherlock nodded and leant his head back. John thought that seeing Sherlock in this light, in this position, shimmering with sweat was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. John slowly slid his hand from Sherlock's hips, underneath the waistband of his pants and slid them down his thin, pale legs. John tried not to stare but Sherlock's body truly was a work of art. John removed his own pants carelessly and then took Sherlock's legs, sliding them apart gently. John took a deep breath.

"Sherlock, where's the-"

"In the top drawer." Sherlock breathed, his voice hoarse and shallow. John's manhood gave an appreciative throb and this was not the first time that John was certain that Sherlock would be the death of him. John reached over and pulled out the tube of clear gel, applying some to his fingers and arousal and taking a moment to once again just look, and see Sherlock in this wonderfully messed up state. John slowly inserted one finger, earning a soft whimper from Sherlock, as he didn't appear to be in pain, John quickly inserted another and got a strangled shout for his efforts.

"Are you okay?" John asked quickly, trying to keep his voice steady and calm. Sherlock cracked a blissful grin.

"God, yes! Don't you dare stop." Hearing the exulted thrill in Sherlock's voice almost gave John a heart attack. John couldn't believe that he was doing this, to Sherlock Holmes. John began to get more confident, knowing Sherlock would warn him if it hurt or just enjoy it like the masochistic sod he was, so he began moving his fingers in and out at a medium pace until Sherlock's continued moans made him speed up and grow rougher in his movements. John pulled his fingers out and without waiting, entered Sherlock forcefully. Sherlock shouted joyously at the top of his lungs. John took a while to adjust to the fantastic, if odd, sensation now surrounding him and clouding his vision with elation. John drove into him with very little mercy, not stopping to let either himself or Sherlock acclimatise as he thrust his hips back and forth. Sherlock certainly wasn't complaining, there was no time in between all the shouts, groans and gasping for breath. John squeezed his eyes shut to try and at least recover _some_ control of himself. He felt the energy building inside him, warning him that he wouldn't last another minute. A few thrusts later and John came breathing Sherlock's name softly under his breath. He reached a shaky hand down and pumped his hand around Sherlock a few times, opening his eyes in time to watch Sherlock cum too with a last breathy moan. John's eyes travelled over Sherlock's sweaty form beneath him and noticed the purpling marks left on his hips where John had been gripping so hard. Sherlock didn't seem to care. John flopped down beside Sherlock with a loud sigh.

"Are you alright?" John felt it only polite to ask. He looked up into Sherlock's cloudy eyes.

"I think…" Sherlock said quietly, "That if that is what sex with you is like, then quitting drugs will not be too difficult at all."

**A/N: ****I got around to some smut! Waheyyyy! I didn't do things by halves did I? Anyway, I've not decided whether this is the last chapter or not… Seeing as they haven't said the 'L' word to each other yet and there's still some plotline to be had. I'd like to know what you all think. Hope you enjoyed and love to all my brilliant readers.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Perfect - Chapter Eight**

**Disclaimer: ****Not mine. Shockingly. Might as well just leave the disclaimer out to be honest lol.**

John heard a knock at the door and groaned. Who could possibly want them at this time? Probably someone for Sherlock. John growled again as he heard the doorbell. Wasn't someone going to answer that? John got up, feeling his aching bones crack and winced. John had only just reached the living room when Mrs Hudson came bustling up in her usual cheery manner.

"It's Inspector Lestrade dear, I sent him up." John tried his best to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Right… And where's Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson gave him a positively motherly look, combined with a pat on the arm.

"He said something about popping out. He said he left a note." John smiled at her and entered the living room. Lestrade was sat sipping from one of Mrs Hudson's dainty tea cups. It would have been hilarious if John had the energy to laugh.

"Hey Greg, be with you in a sec." John mumbled as he went in search of the note. John knew not to check the kitchen or coffee table. Too obvious. Lestrade seemed to sense what he was doing as he coughed and pointed to the wall where the pattern of a smiley face in bullet holes sat. Which now had a lovely bow on it's head as an addition made of white paper. As John took it down he asked:

"Did you catch Sherlock on his way out?" Greg smiled.

"No, bur I just know you two and sort of assumed…" John read the note quickly, 'I won't be long, needed a favour from Molly. I promise I'll be nice. SH x'. This little addition to the end of the usual 'SH' warmed John's heart, but it also scared him. This was a step from normality. It was really happening. Sherlock seemed to have adapted perfectly to the new situation by not adapting at all.

"Got him domesticated yet?" Lestrade asked, bringing John out of his reverie. He was about to reply when an indignant voice sounded from the doorway.

"Certainly not! I, unlike so many brainless morons, know that miracles do not exist." Even though his tone was serious, John could tell he was joking. Greg grinned.

"He will tame you Sherlock, I know he will." Sherlock scoffed.

"Oh really? Want to bet?" John sighed.

"Gentlemen, please!" He said. Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but John shut him up with a look.

"I told you…" Greg whispered smugly and John had to intervene before he went totally insane.

"Now, Greg, there was something you wanted?" John asked with a forced smile. Greg's smiled dropped and he went back into 'policeman mode'.

"Yes, I just wanted to inform you both that Anderson is back from his suspension. So if he makes any more comments be sure to tell me. But Sherlock," Greg pointed a warning finger at the thin man, "I do _not _want you provoking him in any way, shape or form. Do I make myself clear?" Sherlock nodded with a bored sigh, "In which case I wish you good day." Lestrade left the room without a backward glance and John and Sherlock followed him into the hall to watch him leave. John paused as the door shut with a bang.

"You're going to provoke him aren't you?" John asked quietly. Sherlock gave an impish grin.

"Naturally… Oh, and good morning by the way." John felt his strained bones hit against the wall as Sherlock pinned him to it and started attacking his lips with his own. John gasped at this unusual behaviour before turning it into a groan when Sherlock's lean body pressed further into his own. A loud tutting noise sounded and Sherlock jumped away, both men looking guiltily at Mrs Hudson.

"Now boys, it's not that I'm not okay with your relationship, you make an adorable couple! But you never used to be this public with displaying affection before. Is there something I should know?" John watched Sherlock grit his teeth as he tried to explain calmly:

"We weren't together, Mrs Hudson." She looked like she clearly didn't believe him.

"Of course you weren't dear." Sherlock huffed and slunk into the front room, John joining him after shooting Mrs Hudson an apologetic look.

"So how was your morning?" John asked in an attempt to distract Sherlock from a sulk. His eyes lit up immediately.

"It was great! Molly was helping me with my little project. I asked her to dinner." John stopped and turned slowly.

"You did what?" He asked stiffly.

"I asked her to dinner…" Sherlock repeated. John's eyes narrowed.

"Why?" John felt his temper flare uncontrollably, what the hell did he think he was playing at?

"Because she likes me." John's thoughts stilled and everything went quite for several moments.

"WHAT?!" John couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"John, I can't see why you are so angry." John's nostrils flared.

"Are you fucking kidding me Sherlock? I know you are socially inept but she _likes _you." Sherlock looked straight at John, expression blank.

"Exactly."

"Exactly? _Exactly_? This is the sort of thing that you just do not _do_ Sherlock! You do NOT ask out a woman who you know likes you romantically when you have no interest in her and you have a boyfriend." Sherlock shrugged, John was itching to hit him.

"I really can't see the problem here." John laughed derisively.

"No. And that's exactly the problem. How would you like it if I went 'Hey Sarah, how about going out to dinner?'" John felt slightly satisfied to get exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. Sherlock leapt out of his seat.

"No!" Sherlock said. John stood back and folded his arms smugly.

"And there you go. Classic example. It's okay when the one and only Sherlock Holmes does it but dare anyone else try it's a crime." John felt a stab of guilt to see Sherlock looking slightly stung. John watched in shock as Sherlock strode past him and up to his room without so much as a comeback, and it was all his fault. John, in a panic, pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. '_Mycroft, I think I've really upset him. How did I do that? JW_'. The reply was instantaneous. '_I always said that you would be his undoing John. You have changed him in ways other people have only dreamed of. You have made him human, and being human makes you vulnerable. MH_'. Instead of feeling reassured by Mycroft's reply, all John felt was a sinking in his gut…

John stomped back to his room and closed the door forcefully behind him. A few minutes ago he had been sure that Sherlock had been the one in the wrong as per usual but now that he thought about it, he hadn't really done anything. On Sherlock's part he was just taking a friend to dinner to thank her for her help, in fact that was actually a nice thing to do. So why was John so bothered by it? John felt the green monster of jealousy leering at him, taunting him. That was what it was, he was jealous. John had never considered himself good enough for anyone so he'd always tried to surround himself with boring, unoffensive people. But now, around Sherlock, he felt out of his depth. Sherlock could have whatever company he wanted, despite his manner, but he chose John. And he couldn't understand it. What had he done to rank so highly in the consulting detective's affections? What qualities did he possess to change him, in Mycroft's words, in ways others could only dream of? John had always hated the unknown, and being in the middle of it terrified him. He was petrified and possessive, something he promised himself he'd never let Sherlock see. And now he'd fucked up, _again_. John's internal ramblings were cut short at another buzz from his phone. John groaned and prayed that it wasn't Mycroft. It wasn't. '_Just been informed that we've received an anonymous package of cocaine. Not my department but I think it's from Sherlock. Keep up the good work, Greg._' John's stomach tightened. Everyone was praising him for actions he hadn't performed. But one thing was clear, Sherlock was keeping true to his promise, and John should keep to his.

Sherlock frowned at his pillow. He was well aware that he shouldn't let John affect him this way, especially over something so menial. But for once he couldn't help it, now that John had broken down his dam of defence against unwanted emotion Sherlock couldn't rebuild it and Sherlock found his brain host to all sorts of disturbing thoughts. 'John won't put up with me forever, I can't stop myself from driving him away. Every positive step I take towards him drags me back two. I don't know what to do to make him happy, maybe _I_ don't make him happy? I have never had to consider how my actions affect other people before, and it appears to be an inconvenience. But does that mean I should stop? I don't think I could give up trying to make John happy even if I tried'. Sherlock had never liked getting lost in personal thoughts and that hadn't changed. The difference being that he knew that blocking John out would only make matters worse, and yet part of him was still willing to try it. Sherlock was surprised to hear John's footsteps approach in the corridor outside. It was clearly John, it couldn't be anyone else. Sherlock resisted the urge to go and bar the door with his body like a little child as he so often had done before now with Mycroft. The knock was soft, so unlike John, and Sherlock immediately had to wonder what had changed.

"Come in." Sherlock found it surprisingly easy to remove all emotion from his tone as the words left his mouth but he couldn't refute the slight increase in his heart rate as John came into his room looking sheepish and abashed.

"I wanted to apologise." John mumbled. Sherlock's eyes quickly roved over John's body. His body language told him that he was being genuine. But why? How could he have become so repentant in the space of five minutes?

"Why?" An indeterminate emotion flashed in John's eyes and Sherlock realised that he'd probably just done something 'socially inept' again.

"Because you were right. There is nothing wrong with you taking Molly out, I just-" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, what was John so intent on hiding from him?

"Just what, John?" John gave a sigh so loud that it surprised Sherlock. Sherlock couldn't even telling who or what he was sighing at. Sherlock could sense that John was uncomfortable and Sherlock instinctively got up and wrapped his arms around John's waist. John seemed to take several moments to calculate what had just happened.

"Why do you put up with me?" John's heartfelt question made Sherlock's eyebrows furrow. Why would John ask that? It was a ridiculous question.

"You are one of the more tolerable morons of this earth." John looked up.

"I'm serious."

"I don't see why you're asking such a question. You are not an insecure person John, do I give you reason to make you feel insecure about yourself?" John gave a small smile.

"You tend to do it to rather a lot of people…" Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not joking John, this is serious. Do I make you feel unwanted?" All of the questions that had been fermenting in Sherlock's brain were coming to the surface.

"No but… I'm nothing special, so why keep me around?" Sherlock stood shock still and tried to think of the most honest answer he could.

"Because I can't function without you." Sherlock could see the surprise flash in John's eyes. Apparently his answer had been the correct one because Sherlock found his lips trapped between John's in an instant. It sent warmth pooling into Sherlock's stomach at the welcome contact. Sherlock tightened his grip on the smaller man's waist. Sure he had settled John's worry with only a sentence, but there was still so much he had to say, or wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. Sherlock marvelled at how different he was when he was with John, and not just the way he acted but the way he felt. It was like John had come in and just started ordering his thoughts and feelings to do things they had never done before. To think more before speaking, to feel empathy, to feel… love. Pure unadulterated, unconditional love such as Sherlock had never even come close to feeling before. The overwhelming need to have John's approval, to hold him, to protect him and most of all, to have the love he felt returned. Sherlock was more than aware that although they had skirted around the subject, they had not actually discussed how they truly felt for each other as yet. And with any normal couple that would be okay, after all they had only been dating for a little over a week. But Sherlock had been feeling strange for so long and their relationship was so unconventional that would it matter? Once again, Sherlock found himself contemplating what John would think, a more regular occurrence as the days rolled on. Sherlock slid his tongue along John's bottom lip and into his waiting mouth. His taste was almost as intoxicating as the drugs he was now so intent on giving up. Sherlock let his hands slide up John's back and to his neck, which was so clear and free from blemishes. Unlike his own which was still purple from John's talented mouth. Sherlock decided it was now time to make his own claim. Sherlock placed open mouthed kisses down John's neck and let his tongue trail a path from John's earlobe down to his racing pulse. Sherlock took it as a good sign that John was craning his neck almost to breaking point to allow Sherlock full access to continue his ministrations. Sherlock kept his mouth almost closed as he let his lips hover and tease the skin beneath him. Sherlock could feel John trembling and could feel the skin of his throat quivering with the moans he was emitting. Sherlock pulled back to admire the glistening purpling mark and smirked. He had apparently done something right because John's face was screwed up in the cutest attempt at self control that Sherlock had ever seen. Sherlock put his mouth to John's ear.

"How did I do?" He whispered. John swallowed slowly.

"Perfectly." He choked out.

"I reckon there's still some learning to be done…"

**A/N: ****I carried it on! I'm thinking of trying to get it up to ten chapters… But I'm not sure. I'll see, please R&R your annoyance at my continued pestering of you all. Much love to all my readers who have supported me throughout this fic.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Perfect - Chapter nine**

**Disclaimer: ****I would've thought that by now you would know that it's not mine… You silly readers you!**

John woke up dazed and confused. It took a moment for him to adjust to where he was. John looked down to see a familiar chest which he appeared to be using as a pillow. With a jolt John realised that this was the first time him and Sherlock had shared a bed. Another step in their relationship surpassed. And for the first time, he was okay with that. John turned his face down and placed a soft kiss on the skin underneath, smiling slowly and lazily. This was perfect. John knew he had to savour this moment, it probably wouldn't last. Not with Sherlock around. John nearly jumped as he felt a hand languidly stroke up and down his bare back. It sent tingles racing down his spine.

"Good morning John." John shivered, he wondered how he had never had the pleasure of hearing Sherlock's morning voice before.

"Good morning Sherlock. Although I can't guarantee that it _is_ still morning." John peered up into Sherlock's passive face.

"I can guarantee that it is." John just felt overwhelmed by this peaceful moment and placed his hand over Sherlock's stomach while he stretched up to plant a long, slow kiss on Sherlock lips. As he broke away, Sherlock eyed him steadily.

"You know, this is starting to seem awfully couple-like." John's heart beat faster and a slight wave of panic washed over him.

"And are you okay with that?" John didn't want his whole acceptance to have been for nothing, he'd come this far. Sherlock smiled, a rare genuine smile that lit up his eyes beautifully.

"I think I am." Despite the uncertainty of his phrasing, his tone told John all that he needed to know and John couldn't resist beaming.

"I think I am too." Sherlock stayed silent for several moments, he was pulling his face of deep thought.

"In light of this revelation I have something I would like to say." John refrained from pointing out that Sherlock hardly ever asked permission to talk, let alone think before he spoke, "I think I love you." John's breath caught in his throat and his heart felt fit to burst with the warmth emanating from it. He didn't quite know what to say.

"You think?…" John blanched, that hadn't been exactly smooth. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm pretty certain but you seem to be forgetting that I have nothing to compare it to." John smiled, that was certainly true. He took a deep breath.

"Well, having the experience to be able to compare, I'd have to say that I love you too…" The two stared at each other for several odd moments before their lips connected in a flurry of passion and heat. Sherlock pulled away, gasping in breaths.

"I'm so glad you said that John, I was worried it might be too soon." John grinned maniacally.

"When has that ever stopped you?" And John moved back in to kiss Sherlock again, feeling more content than he had in months…

Sherlock awoke again to find it to be early afternoon and John's naked body pressed firmly against his own, both of whom had been at least half dressed until their declarations of love had been made to each other aloud. Sherlock found a dopey grin making it's way onto his face, it was funny how a moment like this, which had before never crossed his mind, now seemed so natural and so welcome. Sherlock looked fondly down at John's sleeping form and almost laughed at how quickly him and John had adjusted to this situation as if they'd always been together like this. Lestrade had been right, John already had him domesticated, in a sense. This was probably the most domestic he was ever going to get and John probably knew that. Sherlock couldn't deny that he liked this, he actually liked it. For once he liked laying and doing nothing, it was… peaceful. It was rare for him to feel peaceful and yet just being with John was bringing him that. He realised he had a lot to thank John for in his life, but he probably never would. Not aloud. John sighed in his sleep and Sherlock felt his hot breath tickle his neck. It was then that Sherlock realised. He couldn't go away to rehab. He couldn't leave John, not now. Not when he wouldn't get opportunities like this, it was wrong. He couldn't live like that. Sherlock had gone without drugs before, he could do it now. In his own home. Otherwise chances are that he'd just escape the rehab to come and be with John and be comforted by John, it would be all too easy in fact. And now all there was to do was to tell John…

Colour rose to John's cheeks as he realised that him and Sherlock were completely naked and pressed tightly together as if their lives depended on being close. Not that it wasn't nice, just a little… odd. John realised with a jolt of happiness that this was something that he'd have to get used to. It would probably be happening a lot more from now on and then he stopped, realising that Sherlock had made him a sentimental fool in the space of a few hours. John smiled as he felt Sherlock's hands combing their way through his hair.

"We should probably get up John." John had to stop himself from pouting.

"Why?" He realised his voice didn't sound any less whiney.

"Because I haven't eaten all day and I'm hungry." John chuckled at Sherlock's blunt truths and pushed himself up.

"That's a fair point, I haven't eaten either." Sherlock looked like he was about to make a snarky comment so John shut him up with a kiss. He put his clothes on, and left without another word.

Sherlock decided it was best to leave telling John about his plan until after he'd eaten, it wouldn't do to anger him on an empty stomach. Sherlock had determined that just because he was in love did not mean he was going to become stupid or let down his guard. Love seemed to cloud people's judgement, but Sherlock knew he had fallen for the right person, his judgement seemed clearer than ever. Sherlock eventually got himself dressed again and exited his bedroom, feeling the boredom begin to overcome him already whilst not being curled up with John. He found his boyfriend staring confusedly at a tray in front of him, laden with all sorts of breakfast foods.

"What is that?" Sherlock asked, already more than aware of what it was just by observation, he repressed a sigh.

"Mrs Hudson seems to think there's something to celebrate… So she made us breakfast. At 2 in the afternoon."

"I don't think she intended for us to eat it this late John. We just got a little swept up in sleep." John's smirk had Sherlock pulse quickening at an alarming pace.

"Among other things…" Sherlock's eyes travelled to the second purplish mark on John's pale neck and was all too suddenly made aware of the dull ache he felt in his lower half. But Sherlock had never really had time for pain so he sat and ate with John in silence until their plates were clean. Then he cleared his throat and thought of how to raise the subject, and thinking of no alternative method than the plain hard truth he said:

"I've decided not to go to rehab." John's drop physically dropped and Sherlock waited for the outburst. 3... 2... 1

"WHAT?" Sherlock kept his face blank.

"Now John, please hear me out. I'm still giving up the drugs, I can promise you that. I just think that I'd be better off detoxing at home and having things to pre-occupy me instead of being in a facility which will offer no assistance whatsoever." Sherlock hoped that John believed his half-truths and didn't ask the real reason. He just wasn't prepared to give it. Sherlock watched John mull it over for several long minutes before John looked him dead in the eye.

"And you're completely sure about this?" Sherlock hadn't expected John to take it quite this readily but he let it go.

"Yes, 100%." John nodded.

"In which case I won't try and stop you, I know you've made up your mind. I can only offer you my support and help when you want and ask for it." Sherlock felt a rush of gratitude such as he'd never had before.

"Thank you." He said solemnly, John didn't smile, he just nodded once and went to go and sit on the sofa until Sherlock grabbed his hand and led him back to his bedroom. He couldn't have John sitting on the sofa all day when opportunities were so readily presenting themselves elsewhere…

John's brow furrowed in concentration. Would Sherlock really be able to handle all this by himself at home? Silly question, of course he could. But the real question was would he be able to cope with Sherlock going through withdrawal? He'd had patients who'd come to him for help, that was different. He hadn't been close to them or had to live with them and continue supporting them 24/7. Plus he'd seen Sherlock coming off of drugs before. John didn't know if he was prepared for that when he'd only just grown accustomed to sincere, loving Sherlock. Would Sherlock change towards him after he quit drugs? John knew in his heart of hearts that these were all questions that would just have to be answered in time. And that no matter what Sherlock's withdrawal brought his way, he would deal with it. Because he had to, as a doctor, as a friend, and as a lover.

"You're worried." John knew that this was not a question. He peered up to see that Sherlock did not even have his eyes open. This could be a problem later on in the relationship, for John to be so easily readable and Sherlock to be so closed. John didn't know whether to bother refuting it or not.

"A little bit." He sighed, he didn't even know he was going to say that. He just felt so safe being honest with Sherlock.

"Why?" Sherlock's arms tightened around John's body, holding him closer. This surprised John, Sherlock was actually being relatively compassionate. John weighed it up in his head. Should he tell Sherlock his concerns or should he not? Sherlock would probably dismiss them if he did say something but if he didn't… he wouldn't leave it alone. He might as well get it out of the way.

"I just don't know how easy it'll be for you to go through withdrawal at home, that's all." Sherlock smirked. It was quite infuriating.

"Oh John, I wondered when this would happen. You worry too much, honestly. It'll be absolutely fine, in fact… I was thinking of asking for Lestrade's and Mycroft's help." John raised an eyebrow, he _was_ kidding right?

"_Lestrade_ and _Mycroft_? You never want anyone's help, and if you do, then you just criticise what they do…" Sherlock had the audacity to look hurt.

"I want your help don't I? And yes, I want them to ensure that I can't get my hands on any drugs. Lestrade can use his policing skills, which I know are hidden in there somewhere and Mycroft can use his infuriating ability to know my every move, and my moves after that. We think so alike that he can always use his own judgement to guess what I would do." John simply looked at his boyfriend with a deadpan expression.

"I had noticed." He replied. Sherlock's haughty expression softened slightly and John couldn't help but melt a little at the humanity embedded in Sherlock's normally stoic features.

"Everything will be fine John, I can promise you that." Sherlock placed a hand under John's chin and captured John's lips in his own, so soft and caressing that John just relaxed straight away, feeling his body sinking into Sherlock's a little more. He paid particular attention to the feel of Sherlock's hand as it gently brushed along with skin from his chin, down to the side of his neck and up to cup his cheek. John felt it was a shame that most people would never get to see this side of the detective, but couldn't bring himself to care too much considering it was all for him. Sherlock pulled away lightly and took a moment to just study John's face, he felt him reddening.

"What?" John couldn't help but ask why he had to be looked at, if it was his choice no-one would ever see him. Sherlock smiled.

"I just like looking at you." John didn't know if Sherlock's constant frankness in answering his questions was a blessing or a curse. John turned his head away until he felt Sherlock slowly turn it back, "Why don't you like me looking at you?" John mentally cursed himself. Sherlock sounded more curious than John had ever heard him.

"I don't like anyone looking at me." John mumbled, wishing that this conversation would end immediately. But, like usual Sherlock, it didn't. At least he still had no sense of tact.

"You are truly breathtaking John, you must know that. Surely you should have no reason to feel self-conscious." John stared at Sherlock in shock. Breathtaking? _Breathtaking_? No-one had ever called him anything remotely resembling 'breathtaking' and Sherlock Holmes of all people was the one to say it. The blush returned full force.

"I don't know what to say." Was his decided choice of reply. Sherlock's hands travelled back to either side of his face, his eyes boring lightly into John's own.

"Then don't say anything, just let me look at you." Sherlock waited for several moments before he gave an impatient huff, "_Please_." John took a deep breath and continued to gaze at Sherlock, he looked so earnest and for some unknown reason he seemed to really want this, so John said the word that he had never expected to come out of his mouth.

"Okay."

**A/N: ****Ehhh, really not sure about this one. I wanted a chapter that just revolved around fluff and discovering of different sides to Sherlock but… I think it's crap. Please let me know. Please, please, pleaseeee. I'd be so grateful. Next chapter is confirmed to be the last people. I'm sorry to let this story go but after having three more chapters than previously planned I think it's time. I shall not tell you anything about it now mwahaha, you will have to wait and see. Thank you to all readers and reviewers and much love too.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Perfect - Epilogue**

**Disclaimer: ****And so, before I get started on the very last chapter, I have to say once more, that nothing about from plot is mine. That's what makes it crap, lol. Little bit of a different format from the previous chapters, just for ease. And so on with the show…**

Sherlock's P.O.V

John seems to think that I have achieved some sort of massive feat. So I got off of drugs? So what? Lots of people do it, I've done it before now. Perhaps he has never seen anyone come through before, and in such a short amount of time. Once the drugs were truly out of my system, that was basically it. I didn't even end up needing any help except for John's, but I think Lestrade was grateful for the thought all the same. He really isn't all that bad once you get past how annoyingly oblivious he is. But I know a few people like that. My brother decided to try and get involved anyway but after talking to John, he dropped it. I have never seen Mycroft do that, I don't know what John said to him and I can't deny that I'm not interested but I refuse to ask. It is not my business. John was so good to me throughout this whole process as I knew he would be, and on some occasions when the pain was particularly bad, just holding him to me as he slept was the only thing that would help. I sometimes wonder if John ever realises how much he has changed my life, and sometimes I sit back and wonder if I just let him change me. Did I ever want to change? Or did John just manage it unwittingly. He does that a lot. But all the problems I thought would come with being human haven't really been as bad as I thought. My productivity levels are as good as they ever were, in fact more so. All my senses have been heightened, as has my awareness. And yes, sometimes I get hurt, but I have begun to realise that I have always had the ability to get hurt I now just have a better way of dealing with it. And these were all things that I would never even have dreamed of admitting before all this. And so I suppose I have a lot to thank John for… But the chances are I never will.

John's P.O.V

He did it. Sherlock got off the drugs. I shouldn't have been surprised by the ease with which he managed it but I still was. From a doctor's standpoint his recovery was amazing. But to anyone who knows Sherlock personally, it's just another thing he's dismissively accomplished. That isn't to say that the little nagging fears have stopped. I'm still worried that it was too soon and he'll need to go back to it. Or worse, that he'll choose to go back to it for one reason or another. I don't know if Sherlock knows that I have these worries, and if he does what does he think of them? No matter how many new sides or new talents or skills that I see from Sherlock, I know that reading him is something that I will never be able to do. And I think I'd rather it that way. It used to infuriate me, he would appear smug, arrogant and superior. And I guess he is all of those things, but not with me. His mystery to me just brings surprise, joy and a strange sense of security. I think after seeing so many new traits that Sherlock apparently possesses, having one which remains constant is exactly what I need. It grounds me, and makes me remember where I am, who I am. Because I tend to forget that sort of thing when Sherlock's around. I'm also not saying that things are going to go this smoothly forever. Of course they won't, the start of our relationship proves that. But I'm sure we're strong enough to pull through. We have to be, so much has changed…

Sherlock's P.O.V

Cuddling. A word I used to absolutely abhor. It sounded so soft and loving and it used to make my teeth grind. But it was not much of a surprise to me when that all changed. So much had changed in such a short space of time that I had learned to just go with it and see where it lead. Much like finding evidence at a crime scene. A lot of my previous thoughts and actions seemed so concrete, but like so much else they just needed the right person to come along and prove them wrong. Me and John were laying together on the sofa in the front room one evening after a particularly hard going case involving a murdered woman in a raincoat, a banana, and four large crates of skin cream. John's head was nestled securely in the crook of my neck as he faced me and our legs were tangled together in an odd pile at the other end of the sofa. Despite being mentally exhausted - quitting drugs appeared to have a detrimental effect on my stamina off cases - I couldn't sleep. I couldn't tell if John was sleeping and I wasn't going to ruin this perfect ambient situation to find out. So instead I focused on watching my hand as it meandered casually up and down John's side. I was transfixed by the way that as my hand moved up, the cloth of John's jumper shifted to reveal a tantalising piece of soft flesh by his hip bone and as I moved his hand back down, the jumper moved back into place, momentarily depriving me of the sight of John's smooth skin and making me want to do it again, just to see that one small patch that I was itching to touch. I suddenly realised why it was that there seemed to be no room at all between me and John, my actions had inadvertently led to the tenting of both of our trousers. I sighed loudly, now needing to feel John's skin against my own even more so than I had before. I stifled a gasp as a warm pressure applied itself to my neck, just below my ear.

"Nngh, John, how long have you been awake?" I asked, struggling to form coherent words when John's tongue was latched onto my skin.

"I was never asleep." I resisted the urge to talk more and just let myself be lost in the sensations that John always gave me. John's mouth travelled up to my earlobe, biting and licking and damn John's insanely talented tongue! A deep moan slipped out from between my lips and I felt our crotches unconsciously collide to gain more friction. I struggled to get my breath.

"Bedroom. Now." I ground out, bunching my fists into the material of John's sweater and half dragging him along with me, still trying to keep our mouths glued together for some form of contact. I opened the door to what was formerly my bedroom but was now our bedroom and pulled us both inside, slamming it closed with no concern for the noise. John pinned me against the door and began kissing me even more urgently. I was quick to respond and snake my arms around John's waist to pull him closer. I had already decided that I would take charge of this situation, so I used my strength to flip us over so I now had John beneath me and trapped against the door, after all I was always aware of how quietly thrilled John was to be dominated and he showed this appreciation with a growl that escaped into my mouth and vibrated arousingly against my tongue. I smiled against John's lips and let my hands travel to John's jumper, tugging it over his head with a massive amount of force. We parted slightly to let the item come off and drop to the floor. John started on my shirt while I used my lips to nibble my way up John's jaw and around his ear. John shivered beneath me and I smirked, I prided myself on knowing John inside and out and knowing just what he wanted, and I was always right. My deep purple shirt was flung across the room in a flourish and I was quick to press my chest as close to John's as possible. The heat radiating off of us made me hiss as my nerves sent electrical jolts around my body. I allowed myself a few more minutes of simply letting my mouth and tongue explore and taste every inch of the creamy skin under my touch until I knew it was finally time to show John exactly what I had learned all those years ago, the years that I had never told John about. I slowly lifted my hands to trail them across John's chest and down so that they reached the waistband of his trousers. At this point John opened his eyes and I didn't say anything, just using my eyes to silently ask if I should stop. John licked his lips slightly, which did not do anything to help my impatience.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked hoarsely. I nodded eagerly, I needed to show John just how much I wanted to give back, to give John everything that he'd given me and more.

"You have no idea just how much, I can guarantee that." John appraised me with his eyes for several long seconds.

"I mean it, you have to want this." I stopped a moment to give John a softer kiss, a kiss that I hoped was reassuring.

"I want this. I _really_ want this." I made sure to use the tone of voice that I knew John could never resist and John's eyes narrowed with lust, I knew I had won. He did nothing but nod and I smirked triumphantly before removing John's trousers in one swift motion. John whimpered as my hand moved to touch him through the fabric of his boxers and I took a moment to just listen to the sound, it was like music to my ears. I very carefully and torturingly slowly slid John's boxers down his legs and wrapped my hand gently around the base of John's cock. I began moving my hand slowly up and down, watching the look of utter sexiness on John's face as I did so. His cheeks were flushed, he was biting his lip and a bead of sweat was just beginning to roll down his forehead. I continued my movements for several moments before kneeling down and replacing my hand with my mouth, I loved the element of surprise after all. John's cry was so loud that I wondered for a fleeting second if Mrs Hudson had heard it, not that I could bring myself to care in the slightest. I began to wish I had thought to do this before, watching the professional army doctor fall apart like this in front of me was the best sight I had ever witnessed, it was so thrilling and so arousing and so… different. I ran my tongue along the underside of the shaft and flitted it back and forth over the tip, tasting John for the first time. It was by far more pleasureable than all of my previous encounters but then again, my previous encounters had not been John. Plus I already had control over my gag reflex so all was going well thus far. I finally felt like I was giving something back to John after letting him do everything in the past few weeks. It was not long before John came into my mouth (rather loudly) and flopped down against the wall, gulping for air. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Do. you. need-?" He panted, gesturing wildly to, what I assumed, was my crotch. I chuckled and gave him a coy smile.

"No, don't worry, you already sorted that, and to be perfectly honest with you, I don't think you're in much of a position to do so." And he had, those noises coming from his mouth had been more than enough to bring me to climax as well, no touching involved. Which was a first. John really was a wondrous man, for so many reasons and I felt lucky to have him all to myself.

"Where did you even learn that?" John asked, calming down a little. I smirked and shrugged dismissively.

"Oh, here and there. But it's safe to say I've never had a reaction quite like yours. You put everyone else to shame." John narrowed his eyes and yanked my arm harshly, pulling us flush against each other and slamming our lips together again, pushing his tongue insistently into my mouth without asking for permission. Clearly he needed to regain some of the control he'd lost.

"I have decided that there must be no end to your talents." John said simply after pulling away as abruptly as he'd started. I licked my lips and felt the edges of my mouth curl slightly.

"Oh, John... I have plenty more to show you..." John's eyes glinted.

"God, I love you."

"I love you too."

John's P.O.V

And he'd unsurprisingly blown me away yet again. I was getting used to all these surprises, and the cuddling. Sherlock had wasted no time in pulling me over to the bed and wrapping his arms back around me. I must spend more time in Sherlock's arms than out a lot of the time. But I didn't mind, it presented a new source of normality for me to grip on to. His presence alone made me feel safe but being in his arms made me feel nigh-untouchable. And I was glad to be protected for once. I had spent so long being the doctor, the one who saved lives and sorted everyone's problems and everyone expected me to stay strong and be tough. But Sherlock never made me feel like that. He made me feel like it was okay to be the one in need of care every once in a while, like he would do anything to keep me safe and not have me do it myself, he made me feel like my life was just as important as everyone else's. And that was really what separated him from everyone else. Every since I had entered into this new life with Sherlock I knew I at least had him, Greg and Mycroft to care for me and make me feel wanted and loved. They never expected or demanded things from me, they gave me a choice. And it seemed like my choices were getting better since I had begun my relationship with Sherlock. I chose to let myself be protected, I chose to make a conscious effort to be less self-conscious and I chose to put my complete faith and trust in Sherlock. And he has never let me down. He has changed so much in the past few weeks, and I guess I have to. And I'd like to think that I was part of the reason for all these changes. Considering the rockiness that signalled the start of our relationship and all the doubts and fears and arguments, me and Sherlock have both just grown into each other in time. We work on the same wavelength and things couldn't be better.

"John, what are you thinking about?" There it was again, the morning voice. It never got any less exhilarating. I tried not to let the smile show on my face.

"Oh you know… Just life." I heard a deep throaty chuckle.

"So that means me then, yes?" I wanted to hit him for his cockiness but once again he was spot on so I just gave an overdramatic sigh.

"To be honest with you Sherlock, you're pretty overbearing in most scenarios, why should your presence in my thoughts be any different?" Sherlock was smirking in that infuriatingly cute manner which I disliked so much. It made me forget I was mad and just fall into it instead.

"Ahh, you see, there's a difference between you and me John. You're everlasting appearance in my thoughts is quite uncharacteristic of you in person." I stopped and stared at Sherlock's face.

"I'm always in your thoughts?" Sherlock appraised me quizzically as if I had said something stupid.

"Well of course, what else would I be thinking about?" I found this question ludicrous.

"You have a massive brain full of knowledge, you always have problems you could solve." Sherlock's smirk dropped and my heart fluttered at the warm smile I received. Sherlock rested his hand lightly under my jaw.

"You see the thing is John, I think for now I've had enough of problems, and I prefer to think about the solutions."

**A/N: ****And we are at the end =( I'll be sorry to see this go, I really will. I had some amazing support throughout this fic and some reviewers that just continually made my day. I really love you all and really appreciate it. Still please send a review and everything and… au revoir. =)**


	11. Authors note!

**Author's note:**

Hey guys! Sorry, just a quick message to say that I loved this story so much, and I know that others did too so I am in the process of producing a sequel. It'll be set a couple of months after the end of this story and carry on a few of the storylines from 'perfect' plus bringing in new ones. It's going to be longer than this story and the updates will probably be slow but I'll try my best =) Thank you all for reading and I hope you join me when I publish the sequel, much love!


End file.
